This was Orontobates doing, as he had convinced its governor, Hydarnes, that holding the town for at least a little while would buy them time needed to better prepare Halicarnassos for the coming siege. When the town elders demurred, Orontobates sent a detachment of Immortals to stiffen their resolve; a resolve that was further braced with a generous offer from the satrap to evacuate the women and children of the leading families and see them safe behind the walls of the capital city.
This rather stout opposition left Ptolemy in a quandry, as he would have to besiege and then storm the town in order to allow Nicanor's convoy to land, yet the men and the equipment he needed to attack the city were on those very ships. Leaving his Prodromoi scouts and Thessalian horse to watch the city, Ptolemy hurried back up the road down which the main body of the army led by Parmenion was marching. No sense worrying Alexander about this, not when the old drillmaster himself would know what to do.
Little did Ptolemy know just how much Alexander longed for such an excuse to solve a tactical problem. As strategic to his goals as Hephaestion had convinced him these days spent fawning about the fat queen were, he hungered for an excuse, any excuse, to be elsewhere, anywhere. He found his distaste for her attentions such that they could not be assuaged even by the free flow of wine, which was offered in amounts copious even by Macedonian standards. Nor did the companionship of nubile, lithe and willing entertainers of all sexes...for Queen Ada had a taste for the exotic that was not satiable within the usual menu of genders. That was an appetite even she admitted was quite out of the ordinary and very difficult to satisfy but, then again, as she told Alexander as they lounged on the couches for dinner one evening, “sometimes it is good to be queen!”
Despite her proclivity for all things sensual and sexual, Ada was, to Alexander's great relief, decidedly and exclusively motherly in her attentions to him. Alexander, she told him, was the son she never had, the son she had always wished for, prayed for, and made sacrifices to the gods for. With his arrival in Asia she knew that those wishes, prayers, and sacrificial pleas finally had been answered. His coming was thus as much a religious event as a martial one, she told Alexander. While she understood that he intended to march on after taking Halicarnassos, she nevertheless intended to make the most of their time together.
Had Orontobates planned it, he could not have asked for a better, longer or more immersive distraction. Every day Alexander spent drowned in the affections of the plump queen, he and Memnon used to their advantage. Between Queen Ada's captive entertainment and the denial of Myndos to Nicanor, the satrap and the general gained the time they needed to broaden and deepen the ditch that ran along the outer walls of the city, and to bring in supplies and reinforcements by sea. In addition, they used the respite to build strong platforms on the walls for their artillery, and to stake out the ranges for their weapons. Alexander had amassed a great variety of tension and torsion siege weapons that could fire long, sharp, piercing projectiles as well as heavy stones, some as heavy as a man. But while Alexander had to build and haul his weapons forward, the city walls were built with artillery firing platforms, mounts and towers. At each such station stood not only expert, practiced artillerymen but citizens whose militia service consisted of either making sure there was always a plentiful supply of ammunition for their weapon, as well as jars of olive oil to keep it lubricated. There were also more crews and militia than there were weapons, which meant a team could work their piece for an hour, then rest as a relief crew took over.
When Alexander did attack, the men at the catapults, gastraphetes, oxybeles, lithoboloi, and other missile weapons would fire with certainty and accuracy, and without need of ranging shots. Every dart, every bolt, every stone, and every boulder would hit their target – and hit it every time.
All that remained was for the Macedonians to arrive.
62
East of Myndos
In Search of Barsine
“The general should not have waited so long before sending his wife and family out of the war zone,” muttered Klemes as he, Ari, and Dimitrios rode north and east from Myndos, into the rich hinterland away from the sea. “And why send us three Greeks, who must travel so far, when he has an entire army at his beck and call?”
“Is all of this griping because of our mission, or is it just because you hate riding so much?” jibed Ari.
“More of the later than the former, but a bit of both, to be honest,” admitted Klemes. “Besides, damn it Ari, I'm a physician, not a cavalry scout! I belong in a surgery, in a nice, clean, warm city, and not on a dusty road in the middle of nowhere, bouncing about on some stinking, old flea-bitten nag.”
“Tell me what you really think, physician,” said Ari jokingly in response to yet more grumbling by his friend's brother. “Nobody forced you to come along, you know. You could surely find some fat old rich ladies who need tending to...or maybe even a queen. I hear that this Ada pays well. Then again, wouldn't that get a bit boring? Grouse all you want, Klemes, but you know that deep down you love this...”
“What!” shouted Klemes. “What do you mean? What is there to love, up to my elbows in bloody intestine or sawing off limbs?”
“It's all in the challenge, and you know it. I've heard you talk about what you do. Where better to learn your craft than on a battlefield? Has to be better than digging up dried out, maggot-filled corpses or looking at drawings of....”
“Quiet, the pair of you,” said Dimitrios, turning around on his own horse to address the two. “You may not be cavalry scouts, but Alexander surely has his own out here. And the way you two are going about it, they'd have to be deaf not to hear us. So keep it down. We've got a job to do, and it’s an important one.”
Klemes scowled at the chastisement from his younger brother, but Ari just smiled, pleased to be on horseback rather than limping about on his bad leg. Although neither he nor Dimitrios were accomplished horsemen, they each had spent more time in the saddle than Klemes. While not the manner of travel to which they were accustomed, even a bumpy ride on a horse beat a long, slow march up country.
And what a country it was – and it was up, both geographically and geologically from the port where they had landed.
“What I don't understand,” mumbled Klemes, is why he made us get off that perfectly fine ship back in Myndos. The port is at the far western end of the peninsula, with Halicarnassos to the east and south. We either should have been set down much farther up the main coast, perhaps a little below Miletos, and cut in land from there, or otherwise have gone to the capital with the rest of them, and strike out from there.”
Dimitrios sighed, slowed his horse and allowed his brother to catch up before answering.
“We couldn't get off the ship on the coast, because all along the coastline, from Miletos to the south, was already in the hands of the Macedonians. And the general figured if we got to Halicarnassos we'd never get out, for the Macedonians were heading there fast to lay siege. This way we sneak along the back of the peninsula, heading north and east while the Macedonians head south and west. If we're lucky, we should be able to sneak behind them, then shoot out north-northeast into the interior.”
“And you know all of this because...why?” asked a doubting Klemes.
“Because, dear brother, I have learned how to read a map.”
“And just where did you get that map?” scoffed Klemes.
Dimitrios let out a sigh as started his explanation. “Over the last few years, Memnon has had scouting parties mapping routes all over this part of Asia. He knew the Macedonians were coming, and felt he would have an advantage not only if he knew the ground but also where all the roads lead and how long it takes to get from here to there...”
“...and back again?” Ari interrupted.
“Yes, there and back again, although to be honest,” the captain said quite seriously and with a sigh, “once we find Barsine, I doubt we will be heading back southwest to Halicarnassos. After all, by then the entire Macedonian army will b
e between us and the city. We'll probably have to head farther south, down the coast, and get a ship back to the city.”
“Why?” asked Klemes.
“Why what?”
“Why go to Halicarnassos at all? You want us to take a ship into another city that will be under siege? We just escaped from one butcher's yard. We'd just be putting our heads back into a trap.”
Dimitrios was about to answer, but Ari did it for him.
“Because your brother, my friend, here, wants the general to know his family is safe. And rather than send a message, he wants to tell him personally. Besides,” he added with a smile, “Alexander will be there, too, and if the ultimate purpose of our adventure is all about fighting Alexander, well...”
If “fighting Alexander” – or at least his men – is what Ari sought, he did not have long to wait. A bit after mid-day, they stumbled upon a dismounted pair of Prodromoi, the elite scouts recruited from the finest and smartest of Macedonia's light horsemen. Although they could take up the lance and hold their own against any cavalry in the line of battle, the Prodromoi were better used in other duties, duties that required independent thinking and often even individual initiative. As much mounted spies as mounted scouts, the Prodromoi were rarely caught by surprise – and this was not one of those rare times. The scouts had seen the Greeks coming, and the two that Dimitrios encountered were but the bait meant to lure him and his party into a trap.
Suddenly and without warning, the two Prodromoi he had spied leapt upon their horses, drew their swords and charged. Another, with javelin in hand, burst out of the brush on the right. A fourth came from the trees on the left. Outflanked on both sides and outnumbered as well, any sane soldier would have surrendered – but Dimitrios and Ari had only recently been captives of the Macedonians, and were in no mood to be such again. The scouts would have been most happy to have prisoners to interrogate and to bring back to the main army, and as such were aiming to dismount or disarm the three Greeks, rather than to kill them.
Neither Dimitrios nor Ari suffered from any such limitations: they fought back, and fought back to kill.
As his brother and friend drew their own swords and turned their horses to each face their attackers, Klemes kicked his heels hard into the flanks of his nag, held on with both hands and, together, rider and mount bowled headlong into the first of the Prodromoi. Both men and their horses tumbled to the ground, but as that was Klemes' plan, he was back up on his feet much more quickly than his antagonist. Unarmed except for a small knife he wore at his belt, Klemes grabbed his heavy wooden medical case with both hands and swung it like a bat, knocking his foe back down as he tried to rise. Satisfied that this enemy soldier was down and out, Klemes turned about just as Dimitrios was being pulled from his horse. Klemes ran toward the melee screaming like a harpy and swung his case once more, which shattered, spilling medical instruments and medicines all about while knocking the enemy rider from his mount. At least Dimitrios could now wrestle his single opponent on the ground, and if Klemes knew anyone who could hold his own in such a tussle, it was his brother.
That left just Ari to worry about, and as Klemes, now breathless, turned his attention in that direction, he saw that he need not have been concerned. Ari had stabbed one of the scouts in the side, wounding the fellow so severely that the rider turned his horse about and fled. The young Greek turned about and charged the other rider, who was desperately trying to parry Ari's savage sword strokes. When his badly injured companion rode off, he, too, gave his horse his heels and set off to join his friend in his escape. As for the scouts on the ground, Dimitrios broke the neck of the one he was wrestling, then finished off the other with a slash of his sword to the neck.
Bloodied, gasping for breath and barely able to stand, the three Greeks soon collapsed to the ground.
“We have to get the horses,” Ari said between breaths.
“Not until I pick up all the pieces from my medical kit,” replied Klemes. “If you are truly determined to put us back in harm's way, well, I'll need my knives, lancets, splints, and medicines.”
“Then you two go about that,” said Dimitrios as he began to rise up. “You'd only spook the beasts, muttering and scowling and limping about, so I'll go round them up. But hurry, because these scouts are sure to have friends – and are sure to be missed. We need to be far away from here when they come looking for these lads.”
63
Halicarnassos
The Probe
While Dimitrios was trying to sneak around behind the Macedonians, Alexander and his generals had already set up their war machines around Halicarnassos.
“This is not a proper siege, and cannot be without a navy!” objected Parmenion as Alexander placed little wooden soldiers upon a crude map of the target city. “We have them surrounded on only three sides – which means they can come and go as they like on the fourth: the sea. Let me remind you that it was Nicanor's assault on the harbor and beaches of Miletos that allowed us to break through the city walls from the land side. That is one less toy for you to play with,” he added as he angrily swept the wooden pieces from the table.
Had Black Cleitos not placed his frightening bulk between the king and the old general, Alexander most assuredly would have killed his father's longtime comrade. Ptolemy and the general's sons hurriedly escorted the old gentleman from the tent, while Hephaestion worked to cool the king's fiery temper, but with little effect.
“One day he will push me too far,” simmered Alexander, “and I will take out his other eye and break his legs, leaving him a cripple to crawl about and beg for his supper – if I let him live at all! Who the hell does he think he is that...”
“He knows exactly who he is, my King,” said Cleitos sternly. “He is the senior soldier in the army. Your late father's best friend, closest companion and most trusted adviser. Parmenion has the unwavering respect and admiration of the army, and that,” added Cleitos with a broad grin, “is why he thinks he can get away with being an insubordinate old son-of-a-bitch. It is a honor he has earned...and paid for with more than just an eye.”
Cleitos' attempt to make his king laugh did just the opposite; Alexander did not simply go into a rage – he erupted into it. Breaking free of Hephastion's calm grip, Alexander thrashed about the tent, kicking, and throwing, and knocking about anything he could – from stools and tables to lamps and servants. A human maelstrom, Alexander became a tempest in human form, as violent and angry as Poseidon on his worst day. His rage unsatisfied, Alexander rushed from the tent, grabbed a spear from one of the guards at its entrance and hurled it with all his might – but fortunately little of his skill – at Parmenion. The old general turned about just as the missile landed at his feet. He shrugged his shoulders and returned the insult with a gesture no less pointed, if somewhat less lethal, than the one hurled at him by the king. His sons in tow, Parmenion mounted a waiting steed and rode off to inspect the lines.
“I am sick and tired of being schooled by that blabbering old shit,” spat Alexander, his spittle nearly hitting Cleitos, who again had put himself in the king's path. “I want you to put him under arrest...no, put him in chains, and then chain him to a post in the middle of the camp! Thinks he can instruct me in how to run my war! This is about my destiny! Not his! I swear I will whip him myself until his skin is...”
“Enough!” shouted Cleitos in a tone he used only on the drill field, and one that every recruit knew meant he had had all that he would take. “Go back into your tent and calm yourself down, Alexander,” he said sternly, trusting to the habit of obedience he had inculcated in Alexander over the many years of the king's not long past youth. “It is unseemly for you to act this way...and especially in front of the men,” he added quietly. “It undermines their confidence to see you two go at it like this, and on the eve of battle at that.”
Alexander, his face still bright red, was about to respond and respond quite unpleasantly when he was distracted by a mighty roar of trumpets and drums, and the
sight of hundreds of men racing to grab their weapons.
“It's the Persians!” several men shouted as they dashed about in confusion. “They've come out of the city! They're attacking our siege lines!”
“Damn that man!” screamed Alexander in a rage.
“Damn who?” asked Cleitos. “Surely this isn't Parmenion's doing...”
“No, no, no! Not Parmenion you great big dolt!” shouted Alexander as he began to throw yet another tantrum, “Memnon! He's trying to do what he tried at Miletos! He's out to burn our siege engines again! Why can't that man just sit behind his walls and take his medicine like any decent general under siege! Quick, Hephaestion, my armor and my horse!”
As Hephaestion nodded and prepared to comply with Alexander's last order, he said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god had inspired Memnon to choose this exact moment to attack. Cleitos caught his eye, nodding as if to acknowledge that he, too, was sending a similar missive to the heavens. If nothing else, the attack had at the very least served to distract Alexander and prevent him from doing something that both Hephaestion and Cleitos knew would destroy the army, or at least tear the guts out of it. As Cleitos made to follow and protect the king in battle, he saw that Parmenion and his sons had also heard the trumpets blare, and were marshalling their battalions as if the row with the king had never occurred.
A Captain of Thebes Page 38